


Expectations

by Huff_Puff



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Jake English, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 00:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11772135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huff_Puff/pseuds/Huff_Puff
Summary: You aren't really sure what to expect of Dirk Strider, let alone your own feelings towards him.





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> Basically the Devils Lettuce put me up to this. Gross.

You were a little nervous when Dirk invited you over to his fancy home in the ‘burbs for the first time. He'd helpfully explained why he lived in such an upscale place like Rolling Hills with a shrugged, “my bro’s a sellout,” and a swift bite of his cafeteria standard sandwich.

You'd been friends with Dirk only for a month or so, which makes sense since you'd only arrived in the states two months ago. You wish it had all been under better circumstances, but your foster mother and father were patient with you. They let you grieve, taught you about the mainland. Its thanks to them you were able to enrol so quickly into an actual school.

Dirk had found you after first bell having a panic attack in the bathroom. Your breathing had been erratic, eyes stuck open wide as you tried to blend in with the wall. You'd slapped your hand across your mouth to gulp down your sobs, paralyzed against the wall. As you listened to him piss into one of the urinals in stunned silence, you managed to convince yourself he hadn't heard you crying. His footsteps were quiet on the bathroom tiles, but they'd undeniably stopped outside the stall you were huddled in.

“Hey,” he'd said at the time. “Imagine they're all in their underwear riding horses - not like, riding them riding them, that's fuckin’ nasty.”

After that, you'd been basically inseparable. He pulled you aside when things got too much for you, crowded in by people that wanted to know where your accent was from, why you said silly words, what growing up on an island was like and why you lived here now. Told you that you could breathe, that you didn't have to answer them if they were bothering you. Sometimes he could be a little much for you himself, and after careful convincing he finally started to believe that it really wasn't him, it was you. He learned to back off when you needed space. You were forever grateful for that.

Likewise, you found yourself playing the role of Dirk’s support network. Sometimes his RSD kicked in during the middle of the night after a bad dream, and he'd fall asleep only to you breathing into the phone. He tended to be quite an awkward fellow, but even moreso the morning after the first time he'd called you. He'd been quick to apologise upon slipping into the seat next to you in Spanish. You'd been quick to tell him off for saying he was sorry - you didn't understand ADHD, and you didn't think you could, really, not having it yourself, but you did understand how badly it messed with his head.

You consider that the night you began to feel not-so friendship feelings for Dirk Strider. So when he invited you around to his home in the fancy Rolling Hills, you found yourself having to really consider the offer. First, it was Rolling Hills. Dirk Strider, the boy who wore the same orange chucks until you could see his toe poking out the front, lived in one of the more affluent ‘burbs of L.A. You'd have never picked it, but upon thinking about it some more you thought perhaps the crisp, perfectly enunciated words might have been a product of his upbringing. It made you feel a little self-conscious of the thick ‘brummie’ accent you'd been labelled with.

But you'd agreed, because this was Dirk, and even behind his strange pointy anime shades and his indifference, you knew he was holding his breath for an answer. His movements as he wiped his mouth on his arm felt just a little too calculated, and the ease in his shoulders when you'd finally said you'd ask your foster parents was minute but still noticeable - at least to you.

When Friday finally rolls around, you meet Dirk where he waits for you on the hood of his dirty old orange pick-up. You don't know how it managed to get so filthy when he only uses it to roll through the paved Los Angeles streets, but the gaps in the tyres are thick with muck and the sides are splattered with thick brown streaks. The metallic paint job is peeling back in places and you can see the original red underneath.

“Hello,” you say, but you think it comes out more like “‘ello.”

“Jake. Hey,” he says, sliding off the hood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Bollocks to him! How he manages to remain looking so suave in this heat you've no idea. You're sweating in just your shorts and a singlet. He pats the car almost soothingly, but you think he might be a little nervous judging by the way he keeps forgetting he's chewing on his bottom lip. It's a little distracting. “Ready to go?”

Your eyes lift up from his lips to his eyes. If he saw where your eyes had drifted from he doesn't say, just jerks his head towards the passenger side of the door before slipping to the drivers side. You slide into your designated seat, dropping your bag into the back seat before you buckle in. Dirk slides in beside you. His doors groans painfully as he shuts it, and you quickly fumble to shut your own before dropping your hands onto your knees. You see Dirk’s eyes shift towards you from the corner of his shades, but they don't linger long because soon you're driving out of the school parking lot in the opposite direction you usually take to catch the bus back home.

Dirk doesn't talking when he drives. One hand stays on the wheel, the other in the centre console, fingers dangling over the side. If you shifted your leg just a little, his long fingers would brush the side of your leg. You have to fight down a blush, moving your hands to clasp them together in your lap. The rest of the ride is spent resolutely staring out the window, and if it feels a little awkward neither of you mention it.

The community turns out to be gated, which is a little daunting, if you're being honest with yourself. It's a little claustrophobic, and you hate the trapped feeling that wrings your throat dry. A hand brushes your leg and you jump in your seat. Dirks hand wraps around yours and gives it a squeeze.

“We can leave whenever you want.” It's the first thing he’s said this whole time, with the same heavy lucidity he always speaks with, but you hope it's not just you emulating when you imagine the comfort layered beneath his words.

“Duly noted,” you say. He releases your hand.

He stops the truck outside the gates and rolls down his window to talk to a man in the booth outside the walls. You keep your gaze focused outside on the fauna growing in neat rows. You're reminded of your overgrown pumpkin patch back on your island.

You sit back in your seat. You don't think they'd grow quite the same tamed into rows. You like to think they had a mind of their own, what with how they tended to disappear.

Dirk lifts his hand in thanks as he drives through the gates the guard opens. It's like passing through into a bubble completely separate from the real world. Each house along the block stands tall and proud in its foundations. Some tout pillars along their pathways, grandiose but ultimately pointless - a gross show of wealth, you think. All of the lawns shine verdant green in contrast to the sun scorched grasses your own section provides. Dirk turns right at the corner of the street and travels a way down the road. The house he stops the truck outside of this time is also gated, black with wrought steel, but this time he leans out the window to press a four digit code into the pin pad outside.

When the gates swing open, you unbuckle your belt and press your face to the window, mouth open as you stare at the building in front of you. You feel underdressed in the presence of such an imposing estate. You spin in your seat to watch the gates closing behind you as Dirk’s old truck trundles down the paved driveway and into one of the car garages to the right of the main house.

He rolls up his window and switches the truck off with a sputter and a poof of black smoke that drifts up the back window from the exhaust pipe. “Well, welcome home, I guess.”

“Uhm. It's lovely?” You say meekly. Dirks shoulders jerk with his telltale silent laughter before he slips out of the truck. He leaves his bag in the back as you undo your seatbelt and lean back to grab your own, hauling it over shoulder and jumping out after him. Dirk is already unlocking the door into the house when you slam the truck door closed. You dither for a second when he opens it wide, and then he nods you inside.

The house probably isn't...all that different from what you'd expected, except there are more film posters hanging up in crisp black frames. Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff mostly.

“Why only SBAHJ?” You ask after inspection. His brows lift over his pointy sunglasses and you suddenly feel like you've missed something obvious.

“Strider, Jake,” he supplies. You grimace at him until he jerks a thumb at the posters. Your eyes drift back to SBAHJ: The Moive and then to the director's name in bad comic sans in the corner. You read the name ‘Dave Strider’ and immediately feel like a righteous buffoon.

“Oh,” you say coherently. “Well then. That explains….a lot.”

Dirk snorts derisively, but you don't think he really disagrees.

“Come on,” he suggests. “I’ll show you to my room.” You respond with a hum in the back of your throat, shaking your head to fight off your embarrassed blush and follow him.

He apologises for the mess when you walk into his room after him - and actually, you're surprised that he means it. It looks like an engineer's workshop exploded through his bedroom. You have to step over a pile of knotted wires to get over to his couch, shifting a pile of Time magazine’s off a cushion to make room for yourself.

“How do you even find anything in here?” You wonder aloud. Dirk shrugs as he slides onto the couch next to you, picking a case up off the seat and placing it on the floor next to him.

“It's an organised chaos. Everything is where I like it, and I like it when it's everywhere. So...organised.”

You concede to him, tapping your fingertips together between your knees. There's that awkward silence again, permeating the air around you like a bad fart.

“So-” You say.

“So-” He says. You both laugh, yours a nervous sort of giggle and his a short “humph” in his throat.

“Want to play video games?” He asks. You get the feeling it's not what he wanted to say, but you smile and nod anyway.

It's a good way to spend the rest of the evening, and even though you're dead for longer than you’re alive, you find yourself happier than you have been since your Grandmother died.

\---

You find yourself spending more and more time with Dirk during and after school, and over the weekends when you aren't working on the ranch outside the city. You've taken to having a dunk in the pool after school most days, now that summer is in full swing and seems set to scorch all of the water from your body. You and Dirk make games of it - Marco Polo, seeing who can hold their breath for the longest, or who can do the most wicked tricks off the diving board.

Best of all though, is that you get to give Dirk a good ogle. He can't see as well without his shades, he tells you - that being out in the sun too long is bad for his eyes and his head. It gives you the opportunity to stare at him when he's too far away to really see where you’re looking.

And boy are you looking.

Dirk happens to be one of those people who is tall and toned. Flat stomach, strong arms. Not muscled the same like you are from wrangling horses on the weekends, but with the sinewy muscle from his various engineering projects and strifes with his elusive older brother, who you've yet to meet (you're likely to faint, if you really think about it, so maybe it's best you don't meet him). He's got scars too - some are obviously from strifes. Others look like scabbing burns probably from his soldering iron, and then he has a couple that are a mystery, like the one around his throat. You find yourself staring at that one the most.

Dirk is decidedly attractive, and it's bothering you.

Once or twice, things have gotten...intense between you. At first, it had stemmed out of a game of fisticuffs. Dirk was faster than you, but his speed meant nothing if he couldn't move. The first time you'd managed to pin him to the pool wall he'd fought to slip out from between you and the wall. Your hands had gripped his hands automatically, pressing them flat to the pool wall and using your body to pin him there. Accidental as it was, your thoughts had gone straight to the gutter and you'd removed yourself from his person before he could feel your unfortunate visitor poking into his hip.

The next times weren't quite so accidental. After some rather underhanded experimentation on your part, you'd found out that pressing just a couple of your fingers into the small of Dirks back left him going limp against you, and declaring a standing score (five - seven, to him), and if his breath hitched as he said it you pretended not to notice.

Water splashes in your face and you shriek out of your unconscious, throwing your hands up to block your eyes as you blink chlorine out of them.

“You okay there man?” Dirk asks, wading closer to you in the pool. His eyes are squinted against the sunlight. This close you can see the smattered freckles across his nose and cheeks. “You've been staring at nothing for like ten minutes.”

“Oh, capital!” You say, bringing a grin to your face, and you really mean it. Dirk makes you happy, far too happy to ruin such a great friendship with something like...like liking him a lot more than you should probably like a friend. “Just capital. Were you saying something before?”

“I said did you wanna fuck?”

You choke on your own spit. “What?”

“I said did you wanna go get food in the truck?” He repeats, more slowly.

You're pretty sure there's no denying the blush spreading across your face to your ears and down your neck, and you hope to whatever god is up there he takes it as purely embarrassment. “I - sounds great,” you say with a voice several octaves higher than you'd have liked to permit.

His eyebrows quirk at you curiously, so you busy yourself with grabbing one of the ladders into the pool and climbing out. Dirk just grabs the side of the pool and leaps out, picking his shades up from his towel and putting them on. Somehow, his hair has still managed to retain some of its spike despite the slightly deflated quality from the chlorinated water. You wonder how long his hair is when it's got no product in it, and if it feels brittle from all the wax and hairspray he puts in it.

You wrap your towel around your shoulders and follow him back into the kitchen, your glasses gripped in one hand. For such a large estate, you've never really seen anyone else here, though Dirk assures you there are cleaners because he and his brother are notoriously messy and “this place would be an actual pig’s sty, food everywhere, covered in mud, with literal defecation on the wall” if there weren't. You think (hope) he's joking about the actual faeces part.

In the end, you and Dirk decide it's too hot to bother driving anywhere to get food since he hasn't bothered to fix his truck’s AC yet, so you lean over the collection of takeout menus together to order out. You’re well aware of the press of his arm against yours. It's almost too hot, but you don't dare move - pretend you don't notice the way his skin is sticking to your own. He doesn't pull his arm away when you finally decide on Chinese, dialling the number on his phone with the hand not resting next to yours.

When the person on the other end of the line picks up, you take the opportunity to watch his face, playing it off as watching him make the order. You'd give anything to slide your fingers across his arm, up his neck to cup his jaw, bring his face down to your own and press your lips to his. You think they'd be chapped from the sun, and you wonder if he'd let you slip your tongue in the first time - you've seen that in a few of your movies, and although the swapping of saliva does nothing for you personally, it really does for your libido.

He suggests he put on the first SBAHJ movie. You agree, seating yourself on the couch next to him. Your imagination must be playing up on you, because you're sure he doesn't really mean to basically sit in your lap (and thank the heavens he isn't - you're quite sure you'd be unable to hide your growing fascination with him if he did).

\---

_Your lips meet in burning hot fire. He's like a burst of fresh water after days in a desert. His hands grip your face, dig into your hair and pull so you let out a sharp cry of pain tinged with pleasure, move down to your hips to drag his nails up your shoulders. His lips remove from your lips and you gasp desperately, hands nestled deep in his hair. It's soft and damp because he's just showered, framing his shadeless face where it stops just above his shoulders._

_“Dirk-” you start, cutting your own breath off with a desperate keen as he latches onto your throat and tugs with teeth. You arch into the bite, eyes rolling up a little. He hasn't even touched you yet, and you're both still dressed, but your hard-on is fucking killing you in your shorts. “Sates alive, just get me off you insatiable ass!”_

_He unlatches from your shoulder to laugh into your skin - not the silent shake of shoulders you're used to, but a full chortle of amusement. You're ready to berate him when he licks a wet stripe up across the teeth indentation in your neck and it stutters into a needy moan. You'd be embarrassed if you weren't so bloody horny._

_Dirk rolls you over so your back is pressed flat against the bed, fingers sliding down your chest to your shorts. He scoots back on your legs, thighs on either side of your own and by god does he look good from above you - not that he looks bad from any other angle, bar maybe terrible chin selfies he sends you from class sometimes, but the way he is leaning over you is doing very good bad things to your insides._

_You wonder what he'd look like beneath you._

He's only just popped open the button of your shorts when you jerk awake in Dirk’s bed, eyes wide in the darkness and breathing heavy. Your boxers are too tight around your groin, and you'd give nothing but to finish yourself off.

“Uh. So. That sounded like an interesting dream you were having,” Dirk says beside you. His voice is subdued, and you hope it's from tiredness and not because he's weirded out.

God he's probably weirded out.

You open your mouth to say something, let it die on your tongue, and shut your mouth again, settling for a timid laugh.

“I'm...I'm sorry Dirk,” you say. Your voice is shaky, with none of the confidence you try to inject in it. He knows, he knows and he hates you and you're an actual idiot. It’s four in the morning, and you just want to curl in a ball and never leave it. “I'll just...I'll go.” You stand. Your boner has been effectively deflated.

“Jake, sit down.” Dirk’s tone is short but firm, and you drop back onto the edge of the bed timidly. It never bothered you before, that you both shared the same bed. The couch was comfy enough to sleep on, but you and Dirk liked to fall asleep watching movies or playing video games, so the bed had always seemed the more appropriate place. Now it feels like you’re too deep in his space, and you're afraid you're going to dig a hole for yourself you can't climb out of.

The overhead lamp switches on, and you see the way Dirk is sitting propped up by his pillows, like he's been awake for a while. He's swaddled in the blankets you'd thrown off yourself in your tousled sleep, watching you from tired eyes.

You pull your legs to your chest, and don't say anything.

“Are you okay?”

You take a moment to answer, and do so with a shake of your head.

“Were you dreaming about me?”

A nod.

“Thought so. My name was pretty explicitly in there.”

“Sorry,” you say again. He shrugs back at you, and you lapse into silence.

The blankets rustle next to you as he straightens up, letting them fall to his lap as he leans forward to touch your shoulder. You feel over sensitive, and not like you were before. Like if he tells you to go you'll shatter into a billion pieces at his feet, even though you probably deserve it.

“It's okay,” he says instead, and you spin around to face him with furrowed brows and a frown to match.

“What?”

“I said it's okay.”

Your mouth flaps open and closed before you manage to say, “I’m not sure if you quite realise my intentions with you Strider, but I must say they're not all that chivalrous-!” The start of your rant is cut off by the press of his hand to the back of your head, his other resting on your shoulder to bodily pull you forward so he can clamp his lips down onto yours.

You don't kiss back, not because you don't want to, but because you're so bloody confused and your brain is malfunctioning.

Dirk pulls away slowly, and his hand falls from your hair though his other remains on your shoulder. You heart clenches when you see the hurt burning in his amber eyes, watch the way he starts to close off and you grab at his arm, scrabbling to pull him in close before he perceive you as rejecting him which is the exact opposite of what you want to do but how can he just pull that on a guy without saying anything!?

“Dirk, no, no don't close off on me, please. Just - give me a second?” Your eyes search his, but he's refusing to look in your direction. The overhead light washes him out, leaving him pale and drawn, but he's still so goddamn beautiful and you want nothing more than to have him in his all.

You grab his hand where it sits on the bed, lacing your fingers between his. “I'm not rejecting you Dirk. Are you crazy? I nearly blew my load in your bloody bed just from dreaming about you.”

His shoulders lift up and shake. “Gross, dude,” he breathes out in a low voice that does a good job reawakening your boner.

“Just…I’m a bit taken back, to be frank. I wasn't sure if you really...well I assumed, but I didn't want to act presumptuously.”

“I've been whackin’ my load to you since we met, Jake. Ain't no presuming here.”

And if that doesn't do wonders to your erection, the shift of the blankets over his lap is enough for you to see the shape of his own interest certainly does.

“Well...aren't we two mighty old fools?,” you titter. He looks at you and smiles one sidedly. “Why'd you not say anything?”

“Didn't want to scare you off. Had enough dreams where you rejected me I thought maybe that'd be it, you know? You'd find out and we'd stop doing this.”

You're suddenly very very glad that he'd taken to calling you whenever he woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, and you're even more glad that you actually answered them.

“Well...we don't have to?”

He stills, fingers clenching between yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He shifts to face his whole body in your direction, and this time, you meet him halfway, bumping noses with each other before you're tilting your head slightly to accommodate each other. His mouth is just as warm as it was in your dream, but that feels like a distant memory when this is actually real and you’re kissing him and he wants you to.

Your fingers dig into the roots of his hair, and it doesn't really feel all that nice because it's thick with hair spray and who knows what else, and you know this is probably half a week's worth of hair product because for all the time Dirk takes to shower he's notoriously bad for not doing it more often. But it's still Dirk’s hair your fingers are fisting into, and the way he wriggles onto your lap seems to emit his approval of the feelings - and this is moving a little too fast for you when he moves his hands to your pants.

“Woah woah woah, wait. Wait.”

Dirk sounds frustrated when spits, “What?”

“It's-” you squirm, then stop when his voice hitches, eyes rolling a little in his head and god that's bloody attractive. “There's a difference between - between dreaming it and doing it,” you stutter.

Dirk leans his forehead against yours, making you look him in the eyes. Very seriously, he says. “Jake, you poor poor virgin.”

“There's nothing wrong with that!!” You splutter indignantly.

“No. But that's virgin talk. Do you or don't you want me to rock your socks off?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“I'm not going to force you man, that's fuckin’ uncool as fuck and I ain't about that shit. But for real, I'm right here and I have a perfectly good right hand. And mouth - but we can build up to that.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It's Dirk, actually.”

“Oh my god.”

“There's a reason for the tongue piercing.”

You flop backwards on the bed and heave a loud groan. He doesn't move from where he's sitting, waiting for you to make a decision. After a long five minutes of deliberation between your balls and your brain, you decide that you've been wanting this for long enough, and you’re eighteen, and you like him and he wants to.

“...okay?” Your voice sounds uncertain, so you strengthen it and say, “But maybe just like...your hand?” By the time you finish what you're saying he's already sliding across your legs and seating himself there, hands on either side of your hips. His fingers rubs along the ridge of skin visible under your shirt, and it's so over sensitive that you can't help the way your breath stutters to a stop.

“Just let me know if it's too much okay?” Dirk says. You nod, one hand over your eyes because he's too much of everything and you think you're going to just cream your underwear if he keeps looking at you the way he is. He leans forward and flicks the overhead light back off. The pure darkness lets you drop your hands to Dirks hips as he slides his fingers under the waistband of your pants before releasing them with a snap. You hold your breath.

One hand skims across the front of your boxers, pressing down on the front of the bulge. You make a noise in the back of your throat and try to arch up off the bed. With Dirk sitting on you, it's kind of a defeated point, and you just kind of end up rutting your ass against the bed instead.

“Dirk,” you whisper. Any louder and you feel like you're going to break the moment surrounding you. “I've never done this before so might I suggest you make it quick before I-”

“Got it,” Dirk cuts you off, flicking your underwear down your thighs and the burst of cold air on your dick steals a whine from your throat. His hands touch the base of your cock and you hum your pleasure, fingers digging into his hip bones. He doesn't move his hand, but his body weight shifts as he rummages through one of the drawers in his bedside table and then you hear it shut quietly. There's the snap of a lid, and then a short squirt. What you're guessing is lube is tossed who knows where, but you quickly forget about that when he rubs his fingers together, making slick wet sounds as he warms up the lube.

“Oh holy fuck, Jesus!” You shout, forgetting your lowered voice when his hands fall back on your boner. One hand glides easily up and down your boner, his dry hand slipping under your shirt to palm at your nipples. This you do manage to arch up into, sliding your hand to his ass and giving it a firm squeeze as you stutter out incoherent words.

He pressed his finger to the head of your cock and you're breathing abruptly cuts off as you feel pressure building at your tip. He lifts his fingers and wipes your precome down your length. Holy fuck, you don't know what you're going to do with yourself.

“Dirk, I-ahn! think I'm going to-”

His breath shoots across your face and you shiver when he presses a kiss to your ear and whispers what you think is an accidental, “fuck me-” and you shoot your load straight into his hand. His hand stills as you ride out your orgasm.

After you start to catch your breath he rolls off of you, hand pulling out from under your shirt and away from your waning erection to shove a hand into his underwear and give himself a quick jerk. The bed rocks just for a few seconds as he curses and rides out his own orgasm, before he falls onto the bed next to you.

You stare at the ceiling and don't say thank you like you want to. Instead a passionate “fuck” is blurted into the dark. Dirk laughs in amusement and cuddles up into you, dragging the blankets over you and burying his face into your shoulder. He's knocked out in a matter of minutes, and before you know it you find yourself drifting off too.

\---

When you wake up in the morning for school, Dirks room is decked out in bright pink and blue ribbons, a banner strung up that wishes him a happy fuckday. A tray of pancakes shaped like penises sits at the edge of the bed. There are a large stack of condoms piled next to them, and when Dirk goes to inspect them he informs you of the pinholes in each one.

You eat your peniscakes once you're both dressed, throw out the condoms, and head out to Dirk’s old pick up.

(You'd like to say you made it to school, but the mess in the backseat suggests otherwise.)

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah that's it it's not that saucy but I'm like the most vanilla bitch out


End file.
